A couple weeks ago, when I asked Jonathan what he would like to do for Father's Day, he decided that what he would really like to do was to go to the mountains for the weekend.
So that is what we did.
At first we thought we might have to stay home because of the fire in Black Forest, but it was becoming contained by the weekend.
We found a camping spot near a stream which was full of water melting from snow in the mountains.
We found a lovely trail to hike, and found numerous pretty spring flowers. Jonathan said these ones are called Jacob's Ladder because of the way the leaves look like a ladder.
(I had to use my imagination a lot on that one.)
How Danny and Hannah loved criss-crossing the rushing stream!
They would hang onto their daddy's hand, and swing across.
Teach us, Lord, to hold tight to Your hand when we must cross the raging waters of life!
Those waters will always be there, perhaps over and over, in between the quieter paths under aspen leaves and sunshine.
Teach us to look to You to find our way when we can't get through these situations by ourselves.
Show us the Way, the Rock to step on, the log to Cross, or the courage to make the
High Jump and land safely.
Some Sundays the best sermon comes from a child.
And you can't call it a sermon, really. Just a real life lesson in sweet, childish terms, like Danny showed us as we walked along.
Would you call him a Jack-in-the-pulpit, like this one we saw on the trail?
As we walked, it began to sleet and drizzle. Hannah, who had only worn a sweater, began to whimper that she was cold. And Danny, who was walking ahead of her and who had on a winter coat, offered quietly,
"She can have my coat."
Without looking around, just thinking about the little sister who was cold and miserable in the drizzle,
the same little sister who can be bossy, brazen and sometimes a little bit downright mean.
So Danny shed his coat, and let Hannah wear it the rest of the way.
That little act of kindness, unexpected and unasked for, sweetened the whole trail.
Nobody else's jacket was small enough; only Danny's would work.
And he gave it up.
Sometimes an act of kindness can sweeten trials as well as trails.
It meant sacrifice.
Later, there was more drizzle. Cold, chilling drizzle.
Hannah was too cold to expect her to give back the coat, so I shared my jacket with Danny.
The two of us together, freezing in the mountain rain, hanging onto my jacket as we hurried back down the trail to the dry, warm safety of our van.
But the sweet way our tender-hearted little boy shared with his sister (the one he is great pals with but also often has trouble with!)
stayed in his mother's memory, as she pondered it in her heart.
It is a good thing to give one's coat away.
It is also a good thing, when one is feeling their heart raked over the coals with the hurts of life, to remember that while some people just enjoy scorning the ones who are hurting, and raking more, and taking one's sweater away to add to their coat, there are actually some people in this world with tender enough hearts to take off their own coat to try to ease the misery of someone else--even when that person has also hurt them in the past.
And above are some more spring flowers--shooting stars, in a beautiful meadow that made my throat ache. How I miss the Pennsylvania meadows, green and flowery. We wandered through some meadows up there, sat in the middle of dandelions and bees and ants, drinking in the beauty and trying to store it up for the next weeks when we must live near forest fire and smoke.
But even then, we can look for treasure, like our little Danny did. As I sat reading my Bible and praying and meditating in the meadow,
Danny was going around our campsite collecting little pieces of bullets.
"I am so lucky to be here!" he cried to me, coming down from the woods with pieces of already shot bullets in his dirty hands.
Lucky!
He had found bullets and casings in the dirt.
To me, they are dirty trash. They can gladly stay in the dirt in the woods.
But to Danny they are treasures.
Perhaps it is a matter of perspective?
I prefer flowers and spring green aspen leaves, beautiful scenery, writing poems, watching duck families.
Danny loves bullets. Dirty, broken bullets.
Considers himself lucky, with shining eyes and eager voice and overflowingly joyful, thankful heart.
"I'm so lucky to be here!"
His words come back to a mother at home who misses the flowers and spring leaves and trees and bushes and rushing streams as she dips water out of tubs to flush toilets, to try to conserve water.
As she looks over the back yard that is scraped practically bear of all green,
looking more like concrete than a back yard.
"I'm so lucky to be here!"
There may not be a lot that is beautiful in our life. Maybe at times it seems like the flowers are all gone, like the green pasture of the Good Shepherd has turned into concrete;
maybe all that remains is bits of broken pieces of something,
like bullets,
a bit of copper or lead or brass.
But if there are no flowers to gather,
and it is all we can do to stay on top of whatever life throws at us,
we can look for something to gather,
maybe just a broken-hearted child of our own that needs a hug and a bit of comfort and something to do to get back to good cheer,
maybe a spouse that needs a tender hug, a kiss, a back rub, or a word of thankfulness that lets them know they are not taken for granted,
maybe a shut-in who needs a note or card or visit or song or hug,
maybe a person you have wounded who needs an apology or an act of kindness done,
maybe a person you have been wounded by who needs forgiveness despite action you may have had to take to stop the wounding process from being ongoing;
Broken bits and pieces of humanity--broken bits and pieces of love and caring--
turning trash into treasure through the power of redemption.
